The Mystery of Snowflakes
by A Natural Blue
Summary: Hogwarts has a new tutor, Professor Rosemary Grene. An unlikely friendship blossoms between the castle's surly potions master and its newest teacher.
1. The New Girl

_Disclaimer: Severus Snape and company all are the property of J.K. Rowling, I do not own the rights to him or his world in any way shape or form (I just like to play there). Rosemary Grene is an original character I created for ht epurpose of this recreational story, not to gain any sort of monetary compensation._

"Professor! Professor Snape!"

Severus did not pause or even break his stride, instead he continued making his way to his chambers, pointedly ignoring the voice chasing after him. The slap of feet against rough stone echoed off of the ancient hallways. A scant few seconds later, Rosemary caught up with him.

"Professor," she said, falling into step next to him. "I was wondering, perhaps, if I could have a moment of your time?"

"If you must," grumbled Severus.

"I know that most of the staff doesn't consider me to be a real instructor, but I think that I really will be able to help the students."

"If there is a point, I am missing it," intoned Severus. He descended the first flight of stairs that led to the dungeons, and Rosemary followed him. If she was hurt by his harsh tone, she betrayed no sign of it.

"When you have a moment, I would like to discuss with you your curriculum and teaching methods. While most of the subjects taught here at Hogwarts are very straightforward and easy to work with, I find that the potions-making is such a unique blend of art and science that I personally find it quite difficult to tutor a student without first consulting the teacher."

Surprise slowed his pace from a brisk stride to a trot. He glanced at Rosemary, intrigued by her request.

"Potions-making is very delicate work—an exacting work. One false move could be deadly. If there is not a general aptitude toward such work, I find it very difficult for the student to improve."

Rosemary smiled at him amusedly. "All due, respect, professor, but let me worry about their improvement."

Finally, Severus stopped walking and turned to face her. Severus studied her carefully as he considered her request. Though in her early thirties, she had a youthful sparkle about her. Her eyes were large and round and full of innocence; their jade color was both remarkable and distinctive. Her lips were soft and full; her chestnut curls a thick curtain that tumbled down just past her shoulders.

"I will be free tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock."

"Wonderful! Thank you so much for your understanding, professor." She turned to leave, but stopped when Severus spoke again.

"You may call me Severus, if you wish," he said politely.

A shy look crept across her face. "Good night then…Severus," she said quietly.

"Good night."

Rosemary watched as he swept down the hallway, melting into the shadows as if he was a part of them. Humming to herself, she turned and headed toward her new office.


	2. Take a Walk

_Disclaimer: Severus Snape and company all are the property of J.K. Rowling, I do not own the rights to him or his world in any way shape or form (I just like to play there). Rosemary Grene is an original character I created for ht epurpose of this recreational story, not to gain any sort of monetary compensation._

Three o'clock tolled across the castle as students scurried to their last class or whatever activity awaited them. Many of them were quite surprised to see their surly potions master strolling out onto the grounds with their newest teacher, Miss Rosemary Grene. If the two professors noticed the stares that they were attracting, neither of them seemed to mind. They were utterly lost in conversation, oblivious to the children trailing from building to building.

"…predominantly independent," Severus was explaining. "I usually begin each class with a brief explanation of the day's activity, and the students then proceed to try and recreate what it is that I have described. When the time has expired, I critique their work."

"Sounds like a good system," said Rosemary, jotting down a few notes. "I think I might know where your students seem to be going wrong."

"Do tell," said Severus dryly.

"Think about it. You demand discipline within your classroom; the activities which you usually engaged require a focusing of the mind on every instruction, right down to the most insignificant of details. Most children are too impatient to deal with such a painstaking process. They become so impatient that they begin to make mistakes."

Severus remained silent, her words turning themselves over in her mind.

"Well, I think that I have everything I need to get started. Thank you again for all of your help." She tucked her notes into her pocket and smiled at him.

"You're welcome. Shall we return to the castle?"

"Actually, I think I might keep walking for a bit. I love days like this."

Severus glanced up at the dingy, wash water clouds that threatened to burst overhead. "Really?" he inquired.

"Sure, I love the rain. Care to join me?"

Perhaps it was the earnest way in which she asked; or perhaps it was the oddity of her choice in weather. Either way, Severus found himself agreeing without being quite certain as to why. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the sky purpled like a bruise, but they were both oblivious to the ominous sound, lost in the simple pleasure of good company.


	3. Breakfast and Quidditch

_Disclaimer: Severus Snape and company all are the property of J.K. Rowling, I do not own the rights to him or his world in any way shape or form (I just like to play there). Rosemary Grene is an original character I created for ht epurpose of this recreational story, not to gain any sort of monetary compensation._

The weeks passed as everyone settled into the year. Fall was fast approaching and the Dark Forest was awash in a sea of autumn color. A nip had stolen into the air, biting at unwitting heels. The great hall was full of excited chatter as students tucked in before the first quidditch match of the season—Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw.

Severus had only seen Rosemary once since their walk across the grounds. She had dropped by his office for a list of students that might need her help but since then he had only seen her in passing. As a result he was surprised when she slid into the chair next to him at breakfast.

"Good morning, Severus," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning," he replied coolly.

"I trust you've been well?" She picked up a slice of toast and began smearing strawberry jam across its dry surface.

"Fine; and you?"

"Just peachy," she said with a smile. Silence descended upon them then, like moths upon a flame. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence; quite the contrary, in fact. It wasn't that they didn't know _what_ to say, it was that they didn't _need_ to say anything. Finally, as she was fixing herself some coffee, Rosemary spoke.

"I wanted to thank you again, for all of the help you have given me. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Severus allowed her a small, polite smile. "You're welcome."

"They seem quite excited," she said, changing topics abrubtly. "The children, I mean."

Severus glanced up from his eggs. "Yes, quidditch always seems to arouse a certain amount of school spirit."

"I was never really a fan."

Severus raised his brows in surprise. "I find that rather difficult to believe," he murmured.

Rosemary shrugged. "I just never really saw the appeal."

"I suppose that make two of us," muttered Severus, taking a long draw from his coffee. Rosemary chuckled softly in response, but said nothing.

oo

As he was dressing for bed that evening, Severus replayed the day's events in his mind. Somehow at the morning's quidditch match, he and Rosemary had wound up sitting next to each other once more. He vaguely remembered her asking him something about an article in yesterday's _Daily Prophet_, and ended up talking with her for the entire match. He found that he rather enjoyed talking with her; it was nice to have someone who was not only intelligent but also easy to talk to. Many of the younger teachers were intimidated by his surly demeanor, but Rosemary seemed utterly unaffected by his cool aloofness.

Waving out his bedside candle, he slid into bed. Yet, for some reason, as he slept, he could not rid himself of the knowing smile that Minerva had flashed him that morning.


	4. Neville

_Disclaimer: Severus Snape and company all are the property of J.K. Rowling, I do not own the rights to him or his world in any way shape or form (I just like to play there). Rosemary Grene is an original character I created for ht epurpose of this recreational story, not to gain any sort of monetary compensation._

Pausing outside of the heavy oak door before him, Neville swallowed a fearful gulp. He raised a trembling fist, but hesitated to knock and lowered his hand. Whatever lay beyond this door could not be good. After yet another abysmal catastrophe in potions, Professor Snape had instructed him to come to this room after dinner.

Neville could not remember a time when he had come so close to disobeying a teacher and skipping out. If it had been anyone other than Professor Snape, he would have tried faking sick; he shuddered to think what punishment the potions master would have served him up for even attempting such a thing.

It was then that he noticed someone approaching him. It was Professor Grene; what was she doing here? She smiled at Neville when she saw him, her soft, rose petal lips sliding into an expression of delight.

"Neville," she exclaimed. "I'm so pleased that you came. I was worried that you might try to skip out," she added, pushing open the door. He followed her dumbly into the small classroom that lay behind it, trying very hard not to look as if he _had_ entertained the idea of cutting out.

"E-excuse me, Professor," said Neville, finding his voice at last, "but where's Professor Snape?"

Rosemary laughed and leaned against the edge of her desk. "I'm afraid that we will not have the pleasure of Professor Snape's company this evening; unless, of course, you'd like me to send for him."

"No," said Neville quickly. "That's okay."

"All right then," said Rosemary, "Let's get down to business. Can you tell me why you're here?"

"Because Professor Snape thinks I'm an idiot," mumbled Neville. His shoulders drooped dejectedly as he looked down at his trainers.

Rosemary patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Neville, you and I both know that you are _not_ an idiot. Why, Professor Sprout was telling me just today what a wonderful Herbology student you are."

"Really?" asked Neville. He looked up at her shyly.

"Really," Rosemary affirmed. "Now, potions seems to be giving you some trouble, right?" Neville nodded. "Well, it's my job to try and help you figure out where you seem to be going wrong, and see if I can't help you get back on track. Okay?"

Neville smiled at her, his eyes cautious but eager to help. "Okay."


	5. Neville Again

_Disclaimer: Severus Snape and company all are the property of J.K. Rowling, I do not own the rights to him or his world in any way shape or form (I just like to play there). Rosemary Grene is an original character I created for ht epurpose of this recreational story, not to gain any sort of monetary compensation._

Glancing up from her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, Hermione smiled as Neville entered the common room. She waved him over, and he sank gratefully into the chair opposite her.

"How was your meeting with Professor Snape?" she asked amicably.

"Great," said Neville dreamily, "it wasn't Snape at all; it was that new teacher, Professor Grene."

"Really?" asked Hermione with interest. "What did she have to say?"

"She's going to help me with my potions lessons. She's so great…" He sighed.

"Who's great?" asked Ron, as he and Harry joined them.

"Professor Grene," said Neville. His eyes glassed over a bit as he stared into the fire, his mind drifting over the evening's events.

"She's not too bad on the eyes, that one; better than McGonagall, at least," agreed Ron. He pulled out his History notes and began skimming what little of it that hadn't faded from being drooled on.

"Yeah, but what does she _do_?" asked Harry. "Obviously not Defense Against the Dark Arts. No one has a class with her."

"That's because she doesn't have a class," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "She's a tutor. She's helping students who are having trouble in their classes."

"And you know this, how?" quipped Ron.

"Unlike you, I pay attention," she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Whatever," muttered Ron. "Have you finished your History assignment? I'm having a bit of trouble with mine."

"well maybe if you spent less time sleeping, and more time taking notes, you wouldn't have that problem, no would you?"

"Aw, come on Hermione, just let me take a peek."

"No," she sniffed disdainfully.

"Why not?" demanded Ron.

"Because it wouldn't be fair."

"Fair schmair—who's going to know?"

"We will."

Harry and Neville exchanged wary glances as the pair dissolved into a rather loud bickering match over the morality of copying homework; so much for a quiet evening.


	6. Late Night Encounter

Chapter 6

The dungeon was silent, punctuated only by the crackling of cauldrons and the splashing of ingredients. Severus swept about the room, examining the work of his pupils with his usual surly demeanor and pausing only to criticize. Neville froze as he stalked toward his desk, no doubt looking for even the slightest of mistakes; but upon arriving, Severus found none and was forced to move on.

Neville let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He smiled nervously at Hermione from across the table and resumed working. A sudden loud bang drew the class's attention. Ron's cauldron had begun spewing out a noxious green smog that reeked of rotten garbage and settled heavily into the air. Severus swooped down upon him with hawkish speed and waved away the smoke with his wand. Ron shrank back, more from the intense stares he was attracting than from the lecture (he was, after all, quite used to those).

With a disgusted look Severus emptied the boy's cauldron. "Essays on my desk Monday; class dismissed. Leave your samples on my desk."

The children each quietly packed up their respective belongings and left their vials on Severus's desk. He watched as they all filed out of the room, his dark eyes cold and calculating as he followed Neville's small round form out the door.

oo

The hour was late as Severus strode through the castle. Moonlight poured in through the high windows, spilling across the stone corridor like so much spilled milk. Shadows crept along the walls, following him as he moved. He slowed to a stop in front of a heavy oak door. He hesitated for a moment, but let his alabaster knuckles rap sharply on the wood.

A moment later the door swung open and Rosemary appeared. Her long chestnut curls tumbled past her bare shoulders; her eyes seemed almost to glow in the soft flickering light of the candles that lay behind her. She flashed him a charming smile.

"Severus," she said warmly, "what a pleasant surprise. Please, come in." She stepped aside and allowed him passage.

He slid into the room, his eyes gliding over the candles that dotted the room and the glass of wine and overturned book sitting in an old leather armchair by the fire. There was an old brass gramophone sitting on a bookshelf, from which could be heard the soft strains of a gentle trumpet.

"I hope that I am not interrupting anything…" he said coolly, noting for the first time that underneath her robe, she was wearing only a delicate silk nightgown. Though it was tastefully modest, discomfort seized him almost immediately.

"Please, sit," she said, waving him toward the other chair. "Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Tea?"

"Wine, thank you," he replied, sitting stiffly in the chair.

She poured him a nice glass of merlot and topped off her own before settling in across from him. Severus took a sip of his wine and studied her very carefully.

"So," began Rosemary, "how have your classes been progressing? Any improvement?" she added hopefully.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, one boy in particular."

"And who, might that be? If you don't mind my asking."

He paused, considering this strange, yet intriguing woman that sat before him. "Neville Longbottom," he said finally. "Typically, his pathetic attempts at even the simplest of potions have ended in an array of appalling disasters."

"But not today," murmured Rosemary.

Severus cocked his head at her. "No."

She smiled at him, her spring green eyes distant with memory. "I knew he could do it," she said idly.

"How is it," he began smoothly, "that you have managed to correct this…problem in the space of two weeks, when I have made little progress in the course of four years of instruction?"

Rosemary tittered with laughter, amusement dancing across her face like the silken shadows on the walls. "Come now, Severus, surely there was something which eluded you as a student? Something that was always just out of reach?"

Severus stared at her, his eyes sharp and harsh, refusing to see the memories that slid to the front of his brain.

"Do you truly want to know?" she asked, pausing with her glass almost to her lips.

"Enlighten me," he said dryly.

"It seems as though your students suffer from two problems. One, they are children and as such, lack the same discipline and self-motivation of fully grown witches and wizards, and two…well, they're terrified of you," she said with a smile.

Severus flashed her a dubious look but remained silent.

"I assure you, I am quite serious. Poor Neville can barely keep his wits about you, much less concentrate on the minutiae of a complex potion."

He stared at her, his long elegant fingers steepled in an almost thoughtful gesture. "And how exactly did you convince him that I am not…a monster?"

Rosemary shrugged. "I just gave him the confidence he needed. It's perfectly fine for him to be terrified of you; the important thing to remember was that no matter how scared he may be, it doesn't change the fact that he is a good wizard."

"And that was all it took to correct four years of bumbling oafishness in my classes?"

"Well, that, and a little bit of charm," added Rosemary with a grin.

"Perhaps I shall keep that in mind as I attend to my lessons," said Severus, rising to his feet. "Thank you for the wine."

He strode to the door, and Rosemary followed him.

"Good night, Severus," she said gently as he entered the hallway.

"Good night, professor," he replied politely.

"Rose," she corrected automatically. "Please, call me Rose. I never was one much for titles."

"Good night then, Rose," he said coolly.

She watched for a moment as he disappeared into the shadows of midnight, before closing the door and leaning against the ancient wood.

"Pleasant dreams," she whispered.


	7. Christmas Magic

Chapter 7

Christmas is one of those innately magical times of year; even the muggles can sense that something different is in the air. The months of fall term had passed quickly and winter had descended upon the castle in a vicious blur of ice and snow. The unlikely friendship between the surly potions master and the school's newest teacher blossomed beautifully underneath the icicle decked eaves of Hogwarts. It was not uncommon to see the two of them walking across the grounds (even in the vilest of weather; indeed, Harry himself had witnessed Professor Grene playing in the vast puddles in the inner courtyard, something which had amused him to no end.) or strolling through the corridors, usually lost deep in each other's conversation.

Though potions lessons were still rather horrific, more and more of his students were becoming less and less afraid of him. It wasn't that he was any less harsh in his criticism or demanding in his lessons, he was simply…more human. Something had softened his diamond like edges almost imperceptibly. Noticeable or not, though, the change was there, if one chose to look close enough.

As the Christmas holidays drew closer and closer, the students grew more and more restless. Excitement was heavy in the air; almost as heavy as the dread that plagued those who still had exams left to complete. The castle itself was nearly bursting with holiday cheer. Mistletoe hung like aerial landmines in the air, waiting to seize and unwitting young fellow and draw him under for a quick snog. The great hall was flooded with the scent of pine as Hagrid lugged in the usual twelve trees. Yet all of this paled in comparison to the complete and total devotion of Rosemary to the spreading of holiday cheer. So taken was she with the coming holiday, that she took it upon herself to bake Christmas cookies for all of the teachers (much to the house elves dismay), and even made sure that each of her students received a stocking full of wonderful goodies. But the thing which won her the most favor was her organization of an informal Christmas celebration, to take place just before the students left for holiday.

It was as if a sort of Christmas fever had taken over the entire castle. Girls giggled and roved the hallway in ferocious packs, prowling for any boy unattached as of yet. Whispers of crushes and dates floated through dormitories and bathrooms alike. Indeed, the rumor-mill was operating at peak efficiency. The boys who were still single did their best to stick together and avoid these groups at all costs. They were being picked off one by one. Harry, Ron, and Seamus had received a half-dozen offers at least, and even Hermione had been singled out by a boy from Ravenclaw. Love was in the air, like an overly sweet, cloying perfume that befuddles the senses, Love…or at least lust.

Finally, after arduous weeks of studying and hours of tedious testing, the evening of the dance arrived. At seven o'clock on the dot, the band began it's first set and the students flooded the great hall. The usual house tables had been cleared away and a dance floor had been set up in its place. Surrounding it were clusters of smaller round tables, draped in emerald and mulberry linen, providing the intimacy of conversation and the seclusion of the shadows. The dance floor itself was crowded with eager young couples, floating along beneath the artificial snow that was tumbling down from the enchanted ceiling. The only light came from a number of strategically placed candles and lights that were draped around the Christmas trees, and even nestled inside the piney boughs. The entire room was practically glowing with red, green, and golden light.

All in all, Rosemary couldn't have been more pleased with her handiwork. She grinned as Dumbledore swept over to her and begged a dance. Laughing, she let him waltz her around the room, much to the amusement of the band, who was currently playing a jazzy sort of ballad. Dumbledore, however, seemed to be oblivious to both the style and the tempo, and enjoyed twirling his partner about. He was remarkably spry for an old man.

"Rosemary, my dear," he said cheerfully. "In my most esteemed opinion, I do believe that your party is a smashing success."

Rosemary smiled, her heart swelling with pride. "Thank you, headmaster."

"You are most welcome," he replied jovially. "And now, if you don't mind, I think I shall cut in on Professor McGonagall and Hagrid." Rosemary glanced over to the pair in mention, watching bemusedly as Hagrid tried desperately to muster up a bit of grace.

"We wouldn't want them to have all the fun, would we?" added Dumbledore, stopping at the edge of the dance floor.

"No, sir," chuckled Rosemary. He gave her a small bow and thanked her for the dance before gliding into the crowd, slipping in and out of the dancing couples until he reached his destination. Professor McGonagall was positively ecstatic when Dumbledore asked to cut in, and Hagrid gave a nod and a smile before leaving in search of a good stiff drink.

With her hands clasped behind her back, Rosemary watched as the party settled into its full swing. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Everyone that is, except for Severus… Rosemary frowned as she caught sight of him slipping out of the door. She strode after him, curious as to where he could be going.

She found him outside in one of the smaller courtyards. The music of the party strained to be heard, just barely audibly through the stone and glass that housed it. Snow fell gently in a sort of icy ballet, dusting the plants and benches with just a touch of powder. She moved to stand beside him, but the telltale click of her heels against the stone gave her away. He glanced at her, but remained silent, staring out at the arctic tundra that was winter at Hogwarts.

"If I didn't know better, Severus," she said quietly, "I would think that you are hiding out here."

"I'm afraid that I am not one much for parties," he admitted carefully.

"I know," she said with a quiet sigh.

Sensing her disappointment, he quickly added, "However, as parties go this one is quite…" He searched for an appropriate word. "…splendid."

Rosemary smiled up at him, for even in her heels she was still a great deal shorter than him, coming just barely to his shoulder. He looked down at her and felt his heart give a strange sort of flutter—the likes of which he had not felt in a very long time. She looked so beautiful…

The brilliant emerald of her sweater dew out the color in her eyes so that she looked soft and touchable. The deep chocolate of her skirt offset it perfectly, and with her curls pulled back, the perfect alabaster of her slender neck was exposed. In truth, she was breathtaking.

"Will you dance with me?" she asked softly.

He hated to do it; his mind warned him to say no, to explain that he, Severus Snape did _not_ dance, and that in any case, they had no music. But he couldn't ignore the soft, mournful ballad that had slid around them; it was faint, and almost imperceptible, but it was there. Try as he might to reject her request, he found that he could not refuse her. He gave a tiny nod that earned him a warm smile and almost made the humiliation worth it—almost.

Rosemary took his hands in hers and placed them firmly around her waist, before curling into his arms and laying her head on his chest. The song slid about them, its tune slow and mournful as they swayed to the gentle rhythm that it offered. The snow swept about them like so much magic, like dancing inside a snow globe.

In a word it was…perfection.

All too soon the song was over, and they pulled apart, reluctance evident on Rosemary's face. Staring up into his dark, pensive eyes, she opened her mouth to speak, but found herself interrupted by the arrival of Neville Longbottom.

"Professor Grene!" he exclaimed happily. He came over to them and, with a shy look, asked, "Will you dance with me?"

Rosemary smiled at him. "Of course I will Neville." He grabbed her hand excitedly and began pulling her inside. She turned her head to offer some sort of silent apology to Severus, but found him striding away in the opposite direction. She deftly hid the hurt look that flashed across her face and followed Neville inside.


	8. Snowflakes

Chapter 8

The sun had set and darkness had fallen with the swiftness of winter; outside it was snowing gently, a final layer of powder tumbling down to join the ice. Severus was sitting quietly at the small table in his chambers, reading through his lesson plans. The students would be returning just after New Year's, and, looking over his plans, he decided to make a few changes to his curriculum—anything that would keep his mind away from thoughts of Rose. This had become an increasingly difficult task ever since the evening of the dance. Something was different between them, and he wasn't sure that he liked that.

As his candle waned lower and lower in its holder, he was startled from his work by a soft, yet insistent knock at his door.

"Enter," he called irritably, annoyed by the disturbance. He was not surprised when a small, wrinkled house elf toddled into the room and cautiously approached his desk. "What is it?" he grumbled.

The tiny elf held out a small scroll of parchment. "For you sir," he said bowing low and offering him the bit of paper. Severus took the message and dismissed the elf in the same acerbic tone he always seemed to use. His eyes skimmed across the scripted lines of text, and his curiosity peaked.

Meet me in the front hall in one hour; bring your cloak; don't be late.

R.

oo

Exactly one hour later Severus strode into the front hall, silence his only companion as true night tolled. Rosemary was waiting for him by the door, wrapped in a beautiful emerald cloak and scarf, a heavy wool blanket in her arms. A delicate silver embroidery glittered along the edges of the fabric, drawing the eye with its subtle shine. She smiled at him as he approached, her eyes shining delightedly in the candlelight.

Severus approached her warily, unsure of what to expect.

"I'm so pleased that you came," said Rosemary, her voice held both the warm familiarity of their friendship and something new, something almost…shy…

"Your letter was…unexpected," he said finally.

"I know, but there is something that I would like to show you," she explained. "Will you come with me?"

Severus considered her request, turning it over in his mind. He gave a short nod of agreement, and followed silently as she went outside. It was still snowing, delicate flakes falling like a soft, touchable sort of magic that slid against the body in the gentlest of caresses. Hagrid's hut swelled into view like the frosted gingerbread house of _Hansel and Gretel_; the pumpkin patch was frozen underneath so much snow, tiny mountains of sparkling white.

They had been walking for at least ten minutes, a companionable silence stretching between the two of them. Rosemary walked along beside him, quiet as she led the way. A few minutes later she stopped and inspected the bit of ground that lay before them.

"This will do fine," she murmured. She unfolded the large blanket she had been carrying and stretched it out on top of the snow. Severus watched, somewhat intrigued as she laid down, her head pillowed atop one arm. His brows slid up questioningly as she patted the spot beside her. "Have a seat," she said.

Severus looked at her for a moment, wary of this strange behavior, but eventually sat down next to her. Rosemary smiled idly at him as she let the snowflakes tickle her face, melting just a split second later. Staring up at the cloudy sky and the parade of tumbling snowflakes, he spoke softly.

"My grandmother and I used to do this every Christmas Eve," she murmured. "We'd lie out in the garden for hours, just watching the stars and the snow…" Her eyes slid closed. "My mother always hated it—she was terrified that I would catch pneumonia, but I never did…"

Severus gazed at her, his eyes tracing the subtle curves of her figure as her cloak spilled out on either side of her tiny body. Her chest rose and fell steadily with each breath, as if she were simply asleep.

"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" she asked. "It's almost as if you breathe too hard, it will all just…blow away…"

"It is rather extraordinary," he agreed noncommittally.

Silence fell between them as the snow danced its way down around them; the air was full of it—crisp and clean as a winter's morn.

"Severus?" she asked suddenly, her eyes flying open.

"Yes?"

"About the Christmas party, I'm sorry if I made you…uncomfortable."

"You did not," he said coolly, pushing aside the mixed emotions that threatened to pull at him.

She stared at him, her mossy eyes intent upon tracing every line of his face. Slowly she sat up, looking away in embarrassment. When she spoke again her gaze was fixed on his lap, where his hands were neatly folded.

"Thank you—for the dance," she added shyly. "It was…." She smiled and flushed a rather endearing shade of pink as she explained. She touched his hand tentatively and looked up at him, her eyes betraying the innocence that dwelled within.

Suddenly the air around them was too warm, seemingly charged with a strange sort of electricity. Her hand slid down to his knee, resting there comfortably as if she touched him all the time. He met her emerald irises with his own twin pools of onyx and felt, rather than saw, her lean closer. She hesitated for a moment before slowly and deliberately brushing her lips ever so gently over his. When he didn't resist, they deepened the kiss, mouths exploring each other in the most basic of ways. His tongue slid along her perfect teeth and into her mouth with little hindrance. She tasted of virgin snow and winter, of fireplaces and books, of laughter and life.

It had been a very long time since he had last tasted a woman, and his body was very pleased with the way her hand slid up his chest and around his neck, the way that she pressed against him, so warm and tender—almost childlike—in his arms.

At last the kiss was broken and she leaned against him for a moment, her face buried in his neck. He hesitated but began to stroke her back soothingly, his long elegant fingers tracing up and down as if following the railroad tracks of her spine.

They sat together until they both could stand the cold no longer. Rising to their feet, he waited as she folded the blanket and then carried it as he escorted her back to her chambers. After a quick glance about the hallway, she stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him tenderly goodnight.

"Pleasant dreams," she whispered sweetly, before closing the door.

He made his way back to the dungeons and returned to bed; and that night, when he slept, he found his dreams haunted by snowflakes.


	9. Betting and Breakfast

Chapter 9

Breakfast the next morning was unusually loud considering just how few students had actually stayed at the castle for winter break. The teachers seemed to be trying to compensate their students' rowdiness with being abnormally quiet. Indeed, Professor Grene, who was perhaps normally the most talkative, was practically silent. She was smiling, almost absently, as she picked at her food, nibbling on a bit of toast here or there. When she did speak, her words were directed at Professor Snape, who was sitting beside her in his usual chair and listened carefully to everything that she was saying. The fact that he seemed at least moderately interested in her was not as surprising as the way that he listened so patiently.

None of this went unnoticed by Hermione. She had been watching the pair ever since Professor Grene had practically _floated_ into the room on a cloud, dazed and lost in a daydream. Hermione had, of course, heard all the rumors about how the two of them had been caught snogging in the teachers lounge, or how they were seen sneaking off to a secret rendezvous (The girls dormitory had been all atwitter with ideas of soft kisses and passionate embraces before the holidays). Hermione had never put much faith in the rumor mill—until today.

Something was different—things just were…off.

Studying her professors carefully, Hermione's eyes widened as she noticed Professor Grene's hand sliding over Professor Snape's under the table. It was a subtle gesture, hardly noticeable unless you were watching intently, but it was there nonetheless. She smiled when she saw the uncomfortable look that flashed across Professor Snape's face, realizing the natural aversion he had to touch and to emotion. Professor Grene said something to him softly, but he did not relax, and eventually she pulled her hand away.

"Did you see that ?" hissed Hermione.

"Fee mwutt?" asked Ron, his mouth full of potatoes.

"Professor Grene and Professor Snape were holding hands under the table!"

"You're crazy," said Ron dismissively.

"Yeah, Hermione," agreed Harry, "this is _Snape_ you're talking about. He doesn't have human emotion."

"You're wrong," sniffed Hermione. "I saw them."

"Don't be stupid," chided Ron.

"All right then, if you're so sure of yourself, I'll bet you two galleons each that I'm right."

"Aw come on Hermione, don't be stupid," Ron repeated. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I'm right."

"Whatever; if you want to give us your money, then who are we to complain, right Harry?"

Harry grinned. "Right."

"It's settled then," said Hermione, eyeing the teachers carefully. "Meet me in front of Professor Grene's office, tonight at 8:30. Bring the cloak."

Ron watched as she got up and left the table. "We really are a bad influence on her," he said thoughtfully.

Harry shrugged. "It's not like we're doing anything wrong," he muttered, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

Meanwhile, on the teacher's dais, Severus was talking quietly with Rosemary.

"I have something that I would like to give to you," he explained softly. "However, now is not the appropriate time."

"I can meet you tonight," said Rosemary, making sure to hide her curiosity. "Is nine o'clock too late?"

"No," answered Severus. "That will do."

Rosemary smiled gently and began fixing her coffee, wondering just what he had in store.


	10. Ron and the Portable Peephole

Chapter 10

Huddled underneath the invisibility cloak, Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited with baited breath for Professor Grene to leave her office.

"Come on, Hermione," whispered Ron irritably, "how long are we going to wait like this?"

"As long as it takes," she snapped. "Stop complaining, it's my feet that you keep stepping on."

"Ron's right, Hermione; we've been waiting nearly an half an hour."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "Just admit that you're wrong so that we can go back to the common room."

"I'm not wrong," she seethed. "Just wait."

A scant few seconds later, Professor Grene stepped into the hall. They waited for her to walk on a bit before following her. It was awkward underneath the cloak; they all hunched down, trying to avoid tangling their arms and legs as they tailed her all the way down to the dungeons. Hermione shot the boys an "I-told-you-so" look when Professor Grene knocked gently on Snape's door.

Ron rolled his eyes as they waited for her go inside. When the door closed, Harry asked, "How are we going to know what's going on inside?"

Rummaging in his pocket, Ron pulled out a rubbery black disc, about the size of a saucer. He nudged them toward the wall and stuck it onto the rough stone.

"What's that?" questioned Hermione.

"Portable peep-hole," explained Ron. "Fred and George came up with them. They're right useful." He tapped the disc with his wand and muttered "reveal." The tiny thing clouded over for a moment before presenting them with a clear picture of what was happening inside the room.


	11. Settling the Bet

Chapter 11

"Wine?" asked Severus, closing the door.

"Please," murmured Rosemary, shrugging off her robes and draping them over a chair. Sevrus poured them both a glass of wine and gestured for her to sit. He paused to look at her, his obsidian eyes sliding over her with an almost gentle scrutiny. Finally, he handed her the glass and sat down across from her.

The fire popped and crackled merrily beside them as they drank in silence. At long last, Severus set aside his glass and pulled a small green box out of his pocket.

He cleared his throat in an almost nervous gesture. "I have something for you," he said hesitantly. Leaning forward just a bit, he handed her the tiny box. He watched as she opened it, studying the subtle delight and curiosity that played over her face. Upon opening the box she found a small silver snowflake, nestled inside among a layer of cotton. Her eyes went wide as she picked it up and found that it was attached to a delicate silver chain. She immediately fastened it about her neck.

"It's beautiful, Severus; thank you."

"I wanted to…" he looked away, unsure of how exactly to continue. Rosemary smiled at him and slid to her feet.

"It's all right," she said softly, "I understand."

He tensed as she touched his shoulder and slid into his lap. His body was rigid against hers, and she touched his cheek tenderly.

"Relax," she whispered. "I don't bite; well, not hard at least," she added thoughtfully. Slowly, Severus adjusted his body to hers. One arm snaked around her waist for support, while the other draped itself casually across her lap.

"Thank you," she repeated, brushing her lips across his ear. "The gift was very thoughtful."

Severus pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. His hand rose up suddenly of its own accord and tucked a straying lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered closed as his long, elegant fingers slid down to stroke her neck. He closed the gap between them slowly, almost hesitantly, and pressed his lips firmly against hers. She sighed against his mouth and let her arms wind around his neck. She shivered as his hands slipped gently through her hair, fingertips brushing lightly over her scalp.

On the other side of the wall, Hermione was smiling smugly at Ron and Harry. With twin looks of disgust, they handed over their galleons and began making their way back to the common room.


	12. Neville Returns

Chapter 12

Sitting quietly at her desk, Rosemary studied the papers before her with critical eyes. So absorbed in her work was she that she almost didn't hear the loud, insistent knock at her door.

"Yes?" she called. "Come in!"

The door creaked open, the old hinges squealing shrilly. A small, round face poked inside the room and peered about.

"Neville!" exclaimed Rosemary. "What a pleasant surprise, I wasn't expecting to see you until sometime next week. How was your break?" she added, beckoning him further into the room.

"It was fine," said Neville with a shy smile.

"Good; how's your Gran doing?"

"She's fine; she's very happy with my improvement in potions. She even said that if I keep my marks up, then she might be able to get me my own broomstick!"

Rosemary smiled at his youthful delight. "That's wonderful, Neville; I guess that just means we're going to have to work even harder this semester, right?"

Neville nodded and began to fidget nervously. "This is for you!" he blurted out suddenly. He thrust forward a small, leafy green plant. Rosemary smiled and accepted it.

"It's an Everbloom," Neville explained. "Once the flowers begin to bloom, they won't stop unless the plant dies."

"Neville, this was so thoughtful of you; thank you." Setting down the plant, she gave him a warm hug. "You're such a kind boy. You're going to make some girl very happy."

He flushed a deep scarlet, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself cut off by the wintery voice of Professor Snape.

"I do hope that I am not interrupting anything," he said dryly. His black eyes swept over Neville with careful scrutiny, noting the new plant on Rosemary's desk.

Rosemary smiled gently at him. "Neville and I were just talking about his holiday; weren't we Neville? It seems that his Gran is quite pleased with his progress in your class, Professor."

Neville quivered under Severus's acidic stare; when he attempted to speak, e found that he could manage nothing more than an undignified squeak.

"I see," intoned Severus disinterestedly.

"Neville, if you'll excuse me, I have a previous appointment with Professor Snape. I'll see you sometime next week, all right?"

Neville nodded weakly, his shoulders slumped with defeated as he trudged out of the room. Severus watched him go, intrigued (if only for a moment). Rosemary situated the Everbloom on her desk, and joined Severus at the door. She resisted the urge to take his hand, knowing both that it would be inappropriate, and that he most likely would tense up and pull away. She was learning very quickly that he was damn near phobic of intimacy.

They left the class room behind and made it to the front hall just in time to slip out before the students left dinner.


	13. The Chat

Chapter 13

The common room was loud and noisy when Neville returned. He noticed Hermione waving at him and trudged over to where she was sitting. Slumping into the chair across from her, he sighed.

"Well," she asked expectantly. "How did it go?"

"She loved the Everbloom," said Neville dejectedly.

"Is that bad?" asked Hermione tentatively.

"No…"

"Then what exactly is wrong?"

"I didn't get to finish talking with her because Professor Snape came in." He scowled angrily.

"Oh," muttered Hermione, averting her eyes. She, Harry, and Ron had decided that it would be best not to tell anyone what they had seen. "Maybe you should try a different approach," she suggested cautiously.

"Like what?" asked Neville, perking up a bit.

"Like…poems, or flowers, or something. You could send them anonymously through the school post."

"Like—like a secret admirer or something," said Neville excitedly.

"Exactly," said Hermione with a smile.

"Thanks Hermione, you're a genius!" he said, jumping to his feet. He hurried off toward the boys dorm, passing Ron and Harry along the way.

"Where's he off to in such a hurry?" asked Harry, plopping down next to Hermione. She shrugged noncommittally and rifled through the papers in front of her.

"Say, Hermione, have you, er, started your Defense Against the Dark Arts homework?" He peered at the scroll of parchment lying in front of her.

"Yes," said Hermione, rolling up her paper. "I've finished it."

"Finished it! We only got it yesterday! How do you do that?" exclaimed Ron.

"I'm organized," quipped Hermione.

"Will you at least check over mine?"

"Maybe…"

Harry grinned to himself as he watched Ron struggling to convince Hermione to help him get started. He laughed and shook his head amusedly as he set to work.


	14. Secret Admirer

Chapter 14

Fidgeting nervously in his chair, Neville waited anxiously for the morning post to arrive. He'd hardly touched his porridge and his goblet was still full to the brim with pumpkin juice. He simply could not eat at a time like this. He stole a glance up at Professor Grene. She was sitting on the teacher's dais, (next to Severus of course) as usual, and she looked absolutely beautiful—at least, in Neville's opinion anyway. Of course, he thought that she looked beautiful _every_day.

The sudden screech of a great Barn owl heralded the arrival of the morning's mail. As owls of all different shapes, sizes, and colors swooped in, Neville's eyes glued themselves to Professor Grene with the force of a permanent sticking charm. Parcels and post rained down in their usual brown paper glory, but Rosemary blinked in surprise when a letter fell into her lap. She hadn't had post in quite a while couldn't imagine who would be writing to her. Breaking the seal, she opened the envelope and pulled out a small piece of parchment. On it was poem, written in a sprawling script:

Roses are Red

Violets are Blue

Sugar is Sweet

But not as sweet as You!

She glanced curiously at Severus, who was calming eating his scrambled eggs, indifferent to the mysterious letter. Chalk it up to momentary insanity but for a fleeting second she actually considered asking him if he had written it. Yet even as she thought of this, she realized that even considering the idea was absolutely ludicrous.

Staring out at the sea of black robes, she wondered idly who could have possibly sent her this sweet, albeit childish, poem.


	15. Not so Secret Anymore

Chapter 15

The next few weeks passed quickly, and Rosemary found herself receiving more and more gifts from her secret admirer. Poetry, chocolates, even a cheap gold bracelet. The bracelet was what cinched it for her; she knew she was definitely looking at a student for this. It wasn't, however, until the flowers started to arrive that she made the connection. They were gorgeous, and all of them very exotic—orchids, hibiscuses, and tiger lilies to name a few. Suddenly all of the shy smiles and blushes began to make sense, and she realized that Neville had mistaken her kindhearted nature to be encouragement of the romantic sort. She resolved to discuss it with him that evening when he arrived for their lesson.

"You really should leave," complained Rosemary between kisses. "Neville will be here soon."

"Are you going to speak to the boy?" His lips found hers once more as his hand slid cautiously to her waist.

"Yes," said Rosemary, pulling back just a little, "and it wouldn't do for him to walk in and see us snogging like teenagers."

"Hmph," was his only reply.

Try as she might, Rosemary could not bring herself to push him away. His lips just felt so good against hers, and he was doing the most wonderful things with his tongue…

The sudden loud squeal of old hinges and the groaning of ancient wood pierced the air more surely than a centaur's arrow. Rosemary pulled away just in time to see Neville hovering in the doorway. His heartbroken expression tore at her.

"Neville—"

"No," he said tearfully. "No!" He threw down the bunch of flowers he'd been holding and ran out of the room.

Rosemary threw an exasperated look at Severus. "Meet me in my chambers," she called as she ran after Neville.

Brushing past confused students, Rosemary looked around desperately for him, but did not see his small round figure anywhere. She scoured corridor after corridor looking for any sign of him, but found none. Finally, after an exhaustive search, she made her way back to her chambers.

Severus was waiting for her when she returned. There was a fire dancing in the grate, crackling and popping a joyful tune, as if nothing in the world was wrong. He was sitting in the old leather arm chair that he favored, hands folded neatly in his lap as he stared into the amber flames. He did not look up when she entered the room.

"You did not find him, I presume?" he asked quietly.

"No," sighed Rosemary, sitting down across from him, "and I'm quite certain that by tomorrow, the entire school will have heard everything."

"And how do you propose that we proceed?"

"This isn't some riddle that needs solving, Severus," she snapped irritably. "Both of our reputations are at stake here. If you weren't too busy trying to distance yourself from everything, you might actually see that."

He did not respond; instead, he rose silently to his feet and began walking toward the door.

"Wait," she said, grabbing his hand. "Please don't leave."

"I will not stay where I am not wanted," he said icily.

"I'm sorry," Rosemary apologized. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Things are just much more complicated now; fraternization among the staff will not be taken lightly by the parents, or the governors for that matter—not to mention just how vicious the students will be. Are you really prepared to deal with all of that?" When he remained silent, she stood up and retreated into the circle of his arms (as rigid and stiff as it might be).

"What do you propose?" he asked at long last.

"I'll send a letter to the headmaster in the morning and explain everything. I'll resign my post, and you'll keep your job. Simple as that."

"Lucius Malfoy will demand both our jobs, if only to save face."

"To hell with Lucius Malfoy," she mumbled. "Dumbledore will never let you go—you're far too valuable a teacher."

"And what of you?" he asked after a moment's hesitation.

"I'll stay in Hogsmeade until the year is over. If I'm no longer a teacher, then fraternizing with me won't be a problem." She smiled against his chest. "Always a silver lining… Stay with me?" she added softly. "Just for a while?"

Against his better judgment, he agreed. She put on the old gramophone, and sat down next to him on the tiny loveseat that sat against the far wall. She curled against him comfortably, almost laughing as he tried to adjust himself to the idea of intimacy (it was not one that he was overly familiar with, after all). As the old jazz wound its way around the room, she fell asleep, her head pillowed against his chest, hands resting heavily on his thigh; and while she slept, he wondered idly what lay in store for tomorrow.


	16. Draco and Detention

Chapter 16

As Rosemary had predicted, the entire school had heard Neville's story before breakfast had even started. Ignoring the blatant stares and whispers that had followed them, Rosemary and Severus had both entered the Great Hall that morning as if nothing had changed. Severus arrived first, composed, dignified, throwing a poisonous glare at a group of girls who giggled loudly when he walked by.

Rosemary arrived a short time later, looking as graceful and elegant as usual. She tuned out the whispers and stares that floated about her and took her usual place on the teacher's dais. The students were disappointed when both she and Severus simply began to eat their breakfast as usual. The waited with baited breath for some tidbit of news, hoping that Dumbledore would make some sort of speech or _something_. The headmaster, however, seemed to have adopted the same "nothing-is-wrong" policy as his teachers.

Later that afternoon, as the Gryffindors and Slytherins trudged down to the dungeons for their potions lesson, everyone wondered what exactly to expect.

"I understand needing a good lay," Draco was saying, "but how could he even touch _her_? She's a bit too _muddy_ for my tastes." He added with a laugh. Pansy Parkinson twittered appreciatively beside him as Crabbe and Goyle guffawed loudly.

"Gossip, Draco, is a detestable habit," said a cold voice. "I would have expected better from _you_."

Draco paled somewhat as Severus glared down at him. "But professor—"

"Fifty points from Slytherin," snapped Severus, "and two weeks of detention."

"You can't be serious!" said Draco, rising angrily to his feet.

"Three weeks then," sneered Severus, "would you like to try for four?" Draco glowered at him but said nothing. "Sit down, then; or would you like to delay my class even longer?"

Draco slunk down into his chair, fuming silent as Severus strode to the front of the room.

"Your instructions are on the board," he said. "Samples on my desk in one hour." And then he did something that he had never done before. Instead of sweeping about the room to hail down his usual criticism, he sat down behind his desk and began working on a small stack of papers. After the little display with Draco, the students knew better than to comment, and they set to work in silence.


	17. Parental Concern

Chapter 17

By the end of the week, Dumbledore was overwhelmed by the influx of owls—all from parents writing to express their concern at the lack of discipline among the Hogwarts staff. The Headmaster was as unphased by this as he was by the visit he received not only from Lucius Malfoy, but also two other school governors.

After meeting with both Severus and Rosemary, Dumbledore was utterly convinced that both teachers had taken great care to remain as discreet as possible. He was saddened by Rosemary's decision to leave; she had been a great help to many of the students. Ultimately, however, he did agree that her departure would be best.

He advanced her the rest of her salary and made arrangements for her to be lodged in Hogsmeade until she found more suitable housing. They decided that she would leave at the end of next week. Dumbledore would make an announcement at dinner to clear the air; all that was left, was one last good bye.


	18. Fini

Chapter 18

The greenhouses were hot and sticky with artificial humidity when Rosemary arrived. She scanned the long rows of tables, peering through the dense foliage that was housed in Greenhouse 2. At last she found Neville, working quietly as he pruned a number of small plants.

"Hello, Neville," she said quietly.

He froze in place, the pruning shears pausing just before he was about to make a cut. He had been dreading the moment when he would have to face Professor Grene. He had, in fact, spent a great deal of his time avoiding her at all costs. Thus, he refused to meet her eyes as he answered, "Hullo Professor."

"What are you working on?" she asked, admiring the tiny plants.

"Um, it's a project for Herbology. We're learning to breed different plants."

"Interesting…You know that I will be leaving tomorrow morning," said Rosemary gently. "You can stop worrying about avoiding me now."

"What? No—I mean, I wasn't—"

Rosemary smiled at him. "Don't worry; I understand. I just wanted you to know that I don't blame you for what happened; someone would have found out eventually. I'm just sorry that you were hurt in the process; in hindsight, I suppose Professor Snape and I should have been more discreet than, well, being in my classroom; but I can't go back and change the past."

"I'm the one who should be sorry!" he blurted out. "I didn't mean to see and to tell and… I'm sorry that I got you fired," he added sheepishly. "If it weren't for me, you'd still have a job."

Rosemary smiled at him and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "You didn't get me fired, Neville; I resigned. Things would have come out sooner or later."

"So…you're not mad?" he asked hopefully.

"Me? No—Severus, maybe; but not me. I'm just sorry that things had to end so badly between you and me."

"It's okay," he mumbled.

"Well then; don't forget everything I've taught you, and just keep working hard in your classes. You are a good wizard, Neville, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He smiled up at her. "Thanks, professor."

"You're quite welcome. Now why don't you head back to the castle and eat some dinner. I'm sure there's still something left."

"Okay." He hesitated before throwing his arms around her in a brief hug. Then, before she could respond, he ran off in the direction of the castle.

Once Neville was out of sight, Severus stepped out of the shadows. "Was all of _that_ really necessary?" he asked dryly.

Rosemary shrugged. "Does it really matter? Give the boy a break; he's only fourteen." She smiled up at him, her expression softer. "One last walk?" she asked quietly.

He nodded in silent agreement, they walked out into the sunset one last time.


End file.
